


Corps-à-corps

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Consent Play, Dirty Talk, M/M, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virginity Kink, sword kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Crowley only wants a book.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 501
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Corps-à-corps

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: This story is about consensual behavior and that is clear throughout, but some of the dialogue may be triggering. Be warned in time.
> 
> And with that I hit my word count goal for the year! And maybe take a break until January! Except that never happens!

Crowley couldn't sneak into Aziraphale's bookshop if he tried.

This is literally true. The place is covered in wards, and while they are designed to allow Crowley-shaped intrusions, they ping in Aziraphale's head when he enters. Aziraphale usually takes it as an opportunity to smile warmly at him or wave distractedly or what have you. This time there is no sound at all, and Crowley creeps quietly through the darkened bookshop, right to the place appointed, a corner with a walled-up fireplace and a narrow spiral staircase to the mezzanine.

Aziraphale is standing on the staircase, looking directly at Crowley as he turns the corner. Crowley freezes, caught, just as he planned to be.

"Let there be light," Aziraphale says, and the narrow space is filled with a column of gentle white light, dust motes swirling through it.

"I can explain," Crowley says.

"Can you, demon?" Aziraphale says.

"It's just that you've got something I want," Crowley says, in his most charming voice. "I thought I'd just pop in here and get it, and we can ignore all the fighting and the enemies and the paperwork."

"This?" Aziraphale says, holding up a black book with gold embossing that certainly seems like it could be dangerous, though it's probably a field guide to birds or something.

"If you don't mind," Crowley says, smiling.

"What will I get in recompense?" Aziraphale asks, playing up the stuffy angel act to the nth degree. "One does not make deals with devils lightly, even for books."

"That depends on what you want," Crowley says. "I can give you vast riches, mortals to serve you until you're beyond sick of it, and all for one measly little book." Aziraphale is walking down the stairs towards him, and Crowley swallows, feeling a bit of genuine fear that makes his toes curl. "Unless you have something else in mind."

Aziraphale plucks a sword from the wall above the fireplace, flips it to his right hand, and levels it at Crowley, a neatly executed series of moves that make it clear he was meant to be a soldier. "Do you know what this is?"

Crowley does; they bought it at an antique store, and it looks like it's made of base metal masquerading as steel. "Let's not be too hasty," he says, raising his hands.

"This is a blessed weapon," Aziraphale says, his hand unmoving. "One flick of my wrist and you would be a pile of ash."

"There's no need for all this melodrama," Crowley says. "Let's just talk."

"I believe I've been clear," Aziraphale says. "What are you willing to give me, demon? I have half a mind to just take it anyway."

"So you already know the price," Crowley says. "Go on and spell it out, angel. Admit it."

"My book for your body," Aziraphale says. "A simple enough trade."

"Surely I'm worth two books, easy," Crowley says.

"Don't test my patience," Aziraphale says.

"Look, if that's the only thing you want from me, I'm sure it can be arranged," Crowley says. "Have your people talk to my people-"

"Yes or no, demon," Aziraphale says; Crowley has to admit that the righteous, stoic angel look is hot on him, though if Crowley pushed the least bit it would crack like a creme brulee.

"Fine," Crowley says. "I, the demon Crowley, et cetera, a book, et cetera." 

"I, the principality Aziraphale," Aziraphale says, and he makes a circling motion with his hand. It's not really clear whether it would be a binding contract if they said the real words, but better to just avoid the possibility.

"Good, that's settled," Crowley says. "I'll just suck you off and we'll call it square."

"I'm afraid that wasn't the deal we made," Aziraphale says. He still hasn't lowered the sword, and he puts the tip of it under Crowley's chin, leading Crowley's head with it like he's inspecting him. "The terms specifically said your body, and that's much more than your mouth."

"What do you want?" Crowley asks, speaking very carefully.

Aziraphale lowers the sword. "Take your clothes off," Aziraphale says, and Crowley rushes to do it, even though he's supposed to be resisting. "Against the wall."

Once he's naked, Crowley braces himself, hands on the mantelpiece of the erstwhile fireplace. "Make it quick. I have places to be."

"Oh, I don't think I will," Aziraphale says, running his hand down Crowley's spine, and the menace in it makes Crowley shiver. "You see, this is a very important text you're taking from me, and I intend to draw full payment from you."

Despite this promise, Aziraphale pushes his fingers into Crowley immediately, a slick thrust that leaves Crowley biting his lip. Aziraphale's not doing it gently, and it's just the thing, the layer of remove that makes this all work. Crowley doesn't let himself move into it, buck back against Aziraphale's fingers like he'd really like to do.

"This will all go better for you if you calm down," Aziraphale says, still stretching him. "Is that a thing demons can even do?"

"Yeah, of course," Crowley says. "Bunch of chill guys, you know us."

"Right," Aziraphale says, then he moves his fingers just so, stopping Crowley's bravado in its tracks.

Crowley groans as Aziraphale finally pushes inside of him. "Slower," Crowley says, even though he doesn't mean it. "It's too much, please-"

"Is this your first time, demon?" Aziraphale asks, and Crowley can feel his breath on his ear.

"Fuck you," Crowley spits.

"You should have leveraged it better," Aziraphale says smugly. "Surely you'd have fetched a higher price unspoiled. Too bad your virtue is mine now, and you'll never get it back." He laughs humorlessly. "Isn't that funny? An angel corrupting a demon."

Aziraphale wasn't Crowley's first by any stretch, but as a fantasy it's thrilling, giving himself up to Aziraphale. Sometimes he wishes Aziraphale had taken him that very first day, tumbled him right in the garden. The things that happened in the interim were not meaningless, but if it had been Aziraphale, it would have Meant Something, in a way that Crowley can't articulate.

But right now Aziraphale's supposed to be coercing him by force, and Crowley should probably pay attention to that. "Please, just, just take it easy, okay?"

"Are you begging, demon?" Aziraphale asks, fucking Crowley in long slides, his hips smacking into Crowley's when he bottoms out.

"Of course not," Crowley says.

"That's a shame," Aziraphale says. "This could go so much better for you if you would only be polite and ask."

"Can't help you there," Crowley says.

"I gave you the offer," Aziraphale says, and Crowley's fingers tighten on the mantelpiece as Aziraphale grabs him by the hips and starts fucking him roughly. It's hard to convince him to do it, even though Crowley loves that shit, but he's doing a fine job of it now. Crowley has to plant his feet to keep Aziraphale from pushing him forward, but it's so worth it for the way Aziraphale moves inside him, his cock hitting the right spot as he thrusts.

Crowley is only sort of remembering to keep up the fantasy, because the vanilla experience of Aziraphale fucking him like this is also great. "Thought angels were supposed to be nice," he pants.

"Angels aren't nice," Aziraphale says. "Angels are righteous." His nails dig into Crowley's hips. "And demons are no more than worms under their feet."

"Snakes, actually," Crowley says, because by this point demon-related insults don't even feel like they apply to him anymore.

Aziraphale lets his right hip go, and suddenly the sword is pressed against Crowley's neck; Crowley almost comes right there. It's pressing into his skin, but it couldn't cut hot butter. "Do you think this is all a game?" Aziraphale says, voice low and burning. "Does this amuse you? Because you'd do well not to forget that one of your betters is using you for his pleasure, and you are nothing but an orifice for that purpose."

Crowley swallows, feeling the sword against him but paying it no mind, because that was maybe the hottest thing Aziraphale's ever said to him. He wants that, just to be Aziraphale's plaything, the two of them stripped back to just hunter and prey, to the biological urges that they're not even supposed to have but seem to have picked up anyway.

The sword disappears, and Crowley takes a deep breath. Aziraphale grabs him around the chest, holding him close as he fucks in over and over. His lips are pressed against Crowley's throat, like a kiss, like he can't stop himself from doing it, offering the tiniest reassurance in the midst of all this.

"Please stop," Crowley sighs. "Oh, don't do this to me, I don't care about the book."

"Too late," Aziraphale says. He reaches around and grabs Crowley's cock, stroking it quickly, which must mean he's close.

"Don't make me come," Crowley whines. "Anything but that."

"Too bad," Aziraphale says. "I'm not letting you go until you do it, demon. I can stay here all night."

"Please," Crowley says, his whole body tightening as he gets closer and closer; he thrusts into Aziraphale's hand and lets the side down, ropes of come splattering over the brick of the fireplace. Aziraphale doesn't wait to follow him, thrusting in hard and coming inside him. Crowley thinks dazedly that there's probably something they could do with that, holy seed, et cetera, but he knows that neither of them can carry it past getting off, like that breaks the spell.

Crowley winces as Aziraphale pulls out; he waves a hand to clean them both up, before Aziraphale can get fussy about it. Aziraphale kind of looks like he's going to pass out, so Crowley sits him down on the floor, where a nest of black pillows and blankets has just conveniently appeared.

Aziraphale hasn't thought to take his clothes off yet, so Crowley does it for him, sending them back to his wardrobe. Skin to skin, he pulls Aziraphale close to him, a blanket obligingly settling over them both.

"Was that alright?" Aziraphale finally manages to say, in a small voice.

It is too much for Crowley to diagnose why Aziraphale goes to the place he goes, but if he can just deal with what Aziraphale is like when he gets there, it works out the same in the end. "Just fine, sweetheart," Crowley tells him. "You did a great job. Came so hard I thought I'd discorporate."

"I didn't hurt you?" Aziraphale asks.

"Couldn't possibly," Crowley says. "Didn't, couldn't, wouldn't."

"That's good," Aziraphale says, and he seems like he's coming into his own a bit more. "I quite liked it," he says, like it's a confession.

"Good," Crowley says, kissing his temple. "Good job we bought that sword."

"That part wasn't too odd?" Aziraphale asks.

"That part was hot as fuck," Crowley says. "You're so sexy as an avenging angel."

"You are the only person who thinks that," Aziraphale says.

"They just don't know you like I do," Crowley says.

"Nobody does," Aziraphale says, and Crowley's heart seizes, that fight or flight reaction he still has sometimes. He pulls Aziraphale closer instead of doing either, holding him close as Aziraphale becomes more Aziraphale by degrees.

The book turns out to be on early motorsports. Crowley does receive it for his troubles, but Aziraphale would have given it to him anyway.


End file.
